


Twelve Empty Bottles

by semperama



Series: Tumblr Ficlets - Band of Brothers [4]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Intervention, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11351442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: Dick finds Lew's stash—allof Lew's stash.





	Twelve Empty Bottles

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a fill for the dialogue prompt, "What have you done?"

“What have you done?”

There are twelve empty bottles beside the kitchen sink—three even lines, labels facing forward. Like soldiers at attention, Lew thinks, and it almost makes him laugh even though anger is coarsing through him like fire, like the first pre-breakfast drink of whiskey that burns down his throat and through his veins. Twelve empty bottles. That means Dick found every single one. Even the one he stashes at the back of his sock drawer. Even the one that was hidden in the upstairs bathroom, in the back corner of the cabinet under the sink.

“Christ.” Lew swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. When was his last drink? He's thirsty now. Dry as a bone. His tongue is coated with sand. “Jesus Christ, Dick, what did you do?”

Dick is leaning next to the counter beside the rows of bottles, arms crossed and ankles crossed like he’s been standing there for a while waiting for Lew to wake up. And knowing him and his infinite patience, he probably has. As Lew watches, Dick reaches out and grasps the nearest bottle by the neck with two careful fingers and turns it just a smidge to line its label up with its neighbor’s.

“What does it look like I did?” he asks, lifting his gaze to Nix’s for the first time since he walked into the kitchen.

“It looks like you fucking—” Lew cuts himself off before he can say anything he can’t take back. He’s that smart, at least. He wants to yell but he won’t. He wants to hit Dick, a little bit, but he won’t do that either. Still, the shame of wanting it makes his face burn.

“How much do you remember from last night?” Dick asks him.

And then Lew’s face is burning hotter, because the truth is, he doesn’t remember much of it at all. Dick convinced him to go to a party with some of the higher-ups at the plant. The higher-ups and their spouses and their brats. It was exactly the kind of shindig he hates, and maybe he drank a little extra to take the edge off. Maybe he said something he shouldn’t have, but he’s the goddamn boss, so what does it matter? What are they going to do?

“You made a fool of yourself, Lew,” Dick says when it’s clear Lew isn’t going to say anything. Fool. The word lands like a slap. Dick doesn’t talk to him like this. He turns a blind eye. Hell, sometimes he’s downright encouraging. This is…it isn’t fair.

And Lew is so thirsty. Just looking at those bottle makes him want to—

Dick pushes off the counter, and Lew takes a couple steps back in sudden and inexplicable fear. But Dick keeps advancing, coming toe to toe with Lew and bringing his hands up, making Lew flinch. Those hands only land gently on his shoulders though. Then Dick seems to change his mind and slides them up to cup Lew’s face instead. His touch is tender in a way that makes Lew ache; his gaze is somehow hard and soft at once.

“You don’t need it,” Dick says, his voice rough and half a whisper.

“I—”

“You don’t. Say it.”

“I…” Lew licks his lips and tries not to think about how parched he feels. “I don’t…”

Dick moves in the last few inches, resting their foreheads together. He closes his eyes, but Lew doesn’t, can’t look away.

“Let me help.”

The words fracture something in Lew’s chest, something that was keeping back every ounce of doubt and fear and self-loathing. Now all of it gushes forth like blood from a sliced artery, and he grips Dick’s shirt so his knees don’t give out. His stomach rolls with nausea and his throat closes up and for a few horrible seconds he thinks he might cry.

“Alright,” he chokes out. It’s all he can say. _Dick, please don’t make me say any more than that,_ he thinks. _Don’t make me promise_.

“Alright,” Dick echoes, his voice wrapping warm and soft around Nix, taking the edge off a little, making him feel a little drunk.

Maybe he’s not dying of thirst after all. Not anymore. Not for now.


End file.
